A New Thegn
by Sheila Waters
Summary: With duty comes responsibility but Bowen never thought it would be so hard to maintain...


**A NEW THEGN**

PART 1 - VOWS 

The Hall was crammed with people all eager to witness the ceremony; some had travelled all day to be there and the wooden walls reverberated to the incessant chatter of so many voices. Standing on a raised dais - itself bedecked with spring flowers and garlands of greenery - stood Brother Gilbert of Glockenspur; and he was fidgeting. In his hands was a piece of parchment that he continually rolled and unrolled in his nervousness. His eyes kept up their own motion of back and forth, from the door to the crowd and, occassionally, down at his hands.   
Those eyes now sought out one figure amongst the many below him. Gilbert coughed to draw the man's attention to himself. When that didn't work, he bent his back and called a name.   
"Hewe!" trying to make himself heard above the rising din. "Hewe!" adopting a higher octave.   
A tall, burly man turned towards the priest and focused one eye upon him - for one eye was all he had. "What?!" Hewe shouted back and was then beckoned closer to the dais.   
Stooping down, Gilbert spoke directly into Hewe's ear. "Where is he?" he asked anxiously.   
Squinting at the monk, Hewe pursed his lips then replied: "Don't you know? You live here." He expected the priest to know where everyone was.   
"Well yes... he's in his chamber... but why isn't he here?"   
Hewe snorted. "P'raps he's given us the slip. Never wanted this - did he?" the peasant surmised.   
"No; but I can't imagine Kara letting him do that."   
A saucy grin cracked the man's features. "Maybe they've found a better way to pass the time!"   
Brother Gilbert blushed then blustered out a response. "I... I don't think... I mean... it's mid-morning."   
Hewe laughed loudly. "Shows you don't know the ways of men!"   
"Oh, I know," Gilbert assured the peasant, and Hewe's one eye widened as much as it was able at the surprising confession. "Not that I understand it all," he clarified. "How could I?"   
"Depends when you took vows," and Hewe winked back.   
Gilbert's mouth opened and closed but no words came forth. Instead, he waved his arms in the direction of the door.   
"Want me to prise him out?" Hewe offered; receiving a nod in reply. Slapping Gilbert on the back - causing him to lose his precarious balance and land on his backside - Hewe turned and fought his way through the crowd. 

********** 

In an upper chamber, the man everyone was waiting for could be found pacing floorboards. He too was tall; taller than most of those men waiting for him to appear; but unlike them, he was a knight whilst they were peasants. Yet he had earned their respect and love in the twenty-eight months or so that they had known him; since he had led them to victory against a tyrannical monarch. For this was Bowen; last Knight of the Old Code; the last dragonslayer - deposer of Einon.   
"Stop it, Bowen!" a woman's voice commanded.   
He did. Swinging to face her, his features screwed up in anguish. "I can't do it, Kara," he said tensely.   
She came up to him, smoothed out an imaginary crease in his almost-new, light-blue tunic, and said quietly: "Of course you can."   
"Alright - I can; but I've no rights - "   
" - no rights?!" she exclaimed. "Who has a better right?"   
"Not for what they ask," he argued.   
Kara planted supple hands on well rounded hips - emphasised by the cut of her red gown - and narrowed amber eyes at the man before her. "I never knew I'd married a coward," she deliberately insulted.   
"Am I?" Bowen questioned; saddened by the barb.   
"Well... no; modest perhaps."   
His gaze softened. "A better choice of words, Madam."   
"Bowen," she began to persuade, "accept this honour in the way they intend it - with a good and gracious heart," and she looked deep into his blue eyes.   
He smiled. "You want this - don't you?"   
"You deserve it," she said seriously.   
"I only did that which I was trained to do," he excused.   
"Yes, but it still took courage."   
Bowen caught his wife by the shoulders; his thumbs caressing the soft wool of her new gown. "You gave me that," and he leaned to kiss her tenderly on the mouth.   
"No," she denied, "I merely reminded you of it."   
One of his hands went to the flame-coloured hair curling over her shoulder. "Will you never accept a compliment from me?"   
"I only accept truth - remember?"   
"Ah, but it is the truth."   
Kara sighed. "As you wish. Now, will you go down and face your - ?"   
" - don't!" he warned, raising an index finger before her nose. "If anything, they are my friends."   
"Then let's go and greet them," as she linked an arm in his.   
Sliding a hand back across his freshly-groomed hair, Bowen then adjusted his sword belt on his hips. Seemingly satisfied, he took the hand that curled around his right arm and led his wife out of their chamber. 

********** 

It all went suddenly quiet. Like ripples on a pond, heads turned as Bowen entered the Hall with Kara on his arm. Behind the couple, walked Hewe. He'd met them in the passage outside their chamber; eyed them suspiciously for signs of any marital dalliance and - not discerning any - had launched into a babble about Bowen being late. Now, he followed proudly behind the man he admired above all others.   
At the far end of the room, Brother Gilbert stood on the platform and grinned broadly as Bowen approached. As soon as the knight joined him on the dais, the priest addressed the hushed crowd.   
"Brothers and sisters; we are gathered here today to set a precedent; to confer upon one man that which is normally the gift of a king. A long time ago though, kings were made by a Council; by the will of their peers. There are no knights or noblemen here, but I know that all of you can count yourselves among this man's peers if only by virtue of what you all achieved together. But no king is to be made here today," and he glanced sideways at Bowen, "instead, we name a new Thegn; a lord to govern these lands in your name. By your will I give you: Bowen; treat him kindly and he'll serve you well."   
A great cheer went up. Bowen winced and smiled wanly. In truth, their enthusiasm had touched him deeper than he dared let show. Holding up a hand for silence, he was immediately obeyed. He turned to his right to face Brother Gilbert; drew his sword from its scabbard, handed it - hilt first - to the priest then sank to his knees before the man. Bowing his head, he waited for Brother Gilbert to say the relevant words.   
Gilbert's hand shook as his fingers closed around the leather-twined hilt of Bowen's sword. Lifting it proved more difficult than he'd imagined and he swiftly opted for a two-handed grip.   
Bowen's eyes raised but not his head. He saw the blade waver and offered advice through clenched teeth. "Grip hard and swing it, Brother."   
Taking the counsel, he put it into practice, bringing the blade up then down onto Bowen's left shoulder. The knight jerked slightly under the impact and for a second, cold blue eyes regarded green ones.   
"Sorry," Gilbert apologised meekly.   
"No harm done," Bowen allowed, "just get on with it."   
Clearing his throat, Gilbert took a firmer hold on the weapon and spoke as he raised it over Bowen's head. "We do hereby confirm upon Bowen; Knight of this realm, the title of Thegn." The blade whacked down on Bowen's right shoulder; Gilbert grimaced nervously, mouthed another apology and lifted the sword again for its return journey.   
Bowen ducked.   
"With it go all lands, monies and honours due to this rank," Gilbert continued. The flat of the blade came down steadier on Bowen's left shoulder. Gilbert smiled down at the man kneeling before him. "Now he must swear fealty on his own behalf." More surely now, Gilbert removed the sword and let its point touch the boards of the dais. Tilting the hilt towards Bowen, he asked the new Thegn to make his oath.   
Grasping the blade just below the cross-guard, Bowen kissed its finely-wrought metal. "I do humbly swear to uphold all laws of this realm; to dispense justice fairly to one and all; to serve any king elected over me in accordance with the Old Code; to accept any decision about my own title with good grace and to tender service whenever I am called." Again, he kissed the sword; rose from his knees with it in his hand and sheathed it.   
A second round of cheering virtually shook the walls and threatened to go on for ever. Bowen let the people have their moment then he raised both arms in a gesture for silence. He looked down to where Kara stood with Hewe at her side and smiled lovingly at her. The roar died to a low hum and then ceased. Now, Bowen addressed the people.   
"You chose me for this honour because I am an educated man and have some experience in the world." He inclined his head towards Gilbert. "The same applies to Brother Gilbert." He was amused by the priest's modest smile and continued to embarrass him. "He is my conscience and as such will be my guide in whatever lies ahead of me. But," and his head swung back to the woman below the dais, "there is one other without whom I'd not be here. Kara," he called down to her, leaning down to offer her his hand.   
She hadn't expected to be involved in any of this and looked to Hewe as if for approval.   
"Go on, girl," he encouraged, "go to him," and he pushed her forward.   
Between Hewe pushing and Bowen grabbing for her arm, Kara found herself propelled onto the platform. No sooner was she on her feet again than one of her husband's arms claimed her and she was hugged into his side. She was almost afraid of what he would do next but dared look into his face. He gave her a smile that she'd seen so often - all love and reverence. His voice though broke the atmosphere of that look.   
"Many of you knew Kara long before I did; some of you have only come to know her as my wife; but to all of us, she's the same woman. Kara speaks plainly," and he pinched her shoulder, "believes in the truth and as such, I commend her to you as your Lady." His next smile held more mischief than the first. "I know she did not seek my elevation to further her own, but she deserves its honours as much as I. Will you accept her as your Lady? Answer me, my friends," he requested.   
As one voice, the crowd shouted back: "Aye!"   
To seal it, Bowen kissed Kara on the mouth, feeling her squirm in his grip; but purely from embarrassment at the public display of his affection.   
"Bowen!" she chastised when he released her; her cheeks now matching the hue of her gown. "It's not seemly."   
He merely laughed at her discomfort, whilst the crowd cheered again. "Why not?" he wanted to know. "May not a man kiss his wife?"   
"Not in public."   
"Hah!" and he whispered to her: "As long as that's all I do!"   
She blushed again and it was Gilbert who came to her rescue.   
"Bowen; Kara, a repast has been set in the kitchen in your honour, will you eat of it?"   
"Of course, Brother," Bowen said with a ready smile, still holding onto Kara. "Won't we, love?"   
"Yes," she agreed, looking around the faces closest to the dais.   
"What's wrong, love?" Bowen asked.   
"I'm looking for Gwyneth."   
"Eadyth has her."   
Then she spotted their daughter in the arms of Hewe's wife and broke away from Bowen.   
Shrugging, Bowen faced the priest. "Let's go and eat, Kara will join us." 

********** 

The morning sped by. The crowd had moved from the Hall into the kitchen and most wanted to shake Bowen's hand. There were many faces he did not know, whilst others had become as familiar to him as his own family. Among those familiar faces was that of a young man of about eighteen and he had become one of Bowen's best students.   
In the nine months that Bowen had been running his training camp, Ralf had turned out to be a youth with a natural talent for any weapon given him. Not only that, Bowen saw something else in the boy; something he dared not share, not even with Kara. Ralf brought to Bowen's mind the infant son he'd buried a few months after the death of his first wife; the lad was the right age and colouring to be a risen spectre.   
"A fine day, Master," Ralf said respectfully as he shook his teacher's hand.   
"I'm not your master, Ralf," Bowen said kindly, "no man is."   
"You are a master-of-arms," the lad argued confidently.   
"And you are a master of words it would seem," the teacher smiled back. "Have you been taking lessons with Brother Gilbert too?"   
"No time, my lord."   
"Ralf, if you cannot call me by name then I have failed you."   
"I cannot call my betters by name," Ralf insisted.   
"You can if permission has been given. Continue to use my name - please."   
Reluctantly - yet with an element of pride - Ralf accepted the liberty. "Thank you, Bowen," but he added a small bow of courtesy anyway.   
Kara came up to her husband as the youth moved away. "He admires you, Bowen," she observed.   
"He's a gifted boy; no matter what task I set him, he masters it."   
"You're proud of him too, aren't you?" she dared comment.   
Bowen frowned. "I suppose so. He's worthy of being a knight himself, not just a foot-soldier."   
"Just him? Aren't there others?" She had noticed the way Bowen looked at the young man.   
"Not with his standards, no."   
"Perhaps if you gave them as much time as you do to Ralf, they could be," she suggested.   
The frown deepened. "What do you mean?"   
"I think you know," and she made to walk off.   
"Kara! he said forcefully, grasping her arm. "Say it!"   
She looked up. His eyes demanded that truth he admired her for. She gave it. "You wish he were your son."   
"What?!" he bluffed; but wasn't convincing enough.   
"Arthur would be his age - had he lived - wouldn't he?"   
"Yes - but - "   
" - does he remind you of Moire too?"   
It was Bowen's turn to blush. "You aim for the heart, Kara," he complained.   
"Not to wound you, Bowen."   
"Really? Then why?"   
"To save you from hurt. He's not your son, Bowen; nor can he be. Ralf has a family to love him, content yourself as his teacher. He'll not betray you but he cannot return your love."   
However; Bowen saw another reason for Kara's words. "He's eighteen, Kara; any son of ours could never benefit from what I'm teaching Ralf."   
"Why?" she asked, staring him straight in the eye.   
"Hmph! Because I'm in my forty-first year now. Add another eighteen onto that and I'll be in my dotage!" he said scathingly.   
"Not if you remain active," and she afforded him a secretive glance.   
His eyes screwed up then widened. "I know your game, Madam!" he sniggered.   
"Then admit defeat; surrender," and she nudged his hip.   
"This is not the place to discuss it," he reminded her; side-stepping at the same instant.   
"Name one," she challenged.   
Cornered now - as more people advanced to congratulate him - Bowen yielded. "Alright. Our chamber - tonight." He hoped no one had overheard. 

********** 

Night brought frost with it; but it was still only mid-March so all the shutters of the lodge were fastened tight. All the villagers had returned home; everyone else who lived and worked within the lodge and fortress complex had gone to their beds, only two people were still up - just.   
Kara untied the narrow, leather girdle from around her hips and wrapped it around her hand. Pulling the red, woollen gown over her head, she proceeded to fold it whilst walking back from bed-chamber to ante-room.   
"Aren't you coming to bed?"   
Bowen stood beside the hearth; the fingers of one hand splayed against his left hip, whilst his other arm was raised to lean against the stonework. Slowly, he turned his head, allowing the firelight to burnish his hair to an auburn tint. "In a moment."   
"Are you afraid of what I'll say?" She now stood before him, the gown draped over her clasped hands.   
"That's twice in one day you've called me a coward," without any humour in his voice.   
"Sometimes I feel you fear me more than any army you might meet," but she spoke with sadness.   
"Now why would I fear you?" and he pushed away from the stone to face her full on.   
"Because I prick your conscience."   
"Hah!" he scoffed and shook his head. More softly, he told her: "No, Kara, you remind me of my past; of what I once was."   
"You are Thegn now; the title can be handed on."   
"To my grandson - yes."   
"Through a son, or a daughter?" she needed clarified.   
"A son," he admitted. "A legitimate son," as his eyebrows arched. "Erin's son cannot inherit by any law. He, as well as she, is illegitimate."   
"So we need a son," she reasoned.   
Bowen sighed. "No, we don't; you want a son," he emphasised.   
"And tell me that you don't," Kara demanded. "Tell me that and that will be an end to it."   
He couldn't. Trouble was, he knew that Kara knew it too. "My father always laid such store in me being his only son; of the importance of lineage - male lineage." Bowen snorted. "It caused arguments between him and my mother."   
"I can imagine. You never speak of your father; why, Bowen?" she asked gently.   
"I was only fourteen when he was killed."   
"Killed?" as she noted the pained expression on his face.   
The pain intensified as Bowen remembered. "His horse pitched into a game-pit taking him with it. He broke his neck." He swallowed. "It was all I could do to prevent my own horse from following... " A strangled sigh emitted from his throat and he lowered his eyes from Kara's.   
"I'm sorry; I understand what it is to see a father die."   
Shaking his head, Bowen explained: "We were racing; he wanted me to be a good horseman. I'd only recently fallen; he thought I was afraid... "   
"But you weren't."   
"No, love; not of falling, only of losing his respect."   
Kara flung the gown onto a bench and wrapped her arms around Bowen's neck. "You can never lose mine," she murmured into his ear. "If you don't want me to have another child - "   
" - you know it's not that," he said ardently, locking his own arms around her body. Lowering his mouth to her neck, he nuzzled beneath her hair then whispered: "I don't believe my luck in having you - and Gwyneth. Somehow, I don't reckon it's my fate to have a son."   
Freeing her face to look into his, Kara argued: "You can't know that; no one can. I'm strong and a second birth is said to be easier than the first."   
Pursing his lips, Bowen realised he was losing this battle; but he tested the ground anyway. "And if I was to say no?"   
A secretive smile played about Kara's lips. "Erin said there are ways to make you!"   
"Oh did she?!" unable to stifle his amusement. "Don't try getting me drunk, love, that has the opposite effect!" and he pecked at her mouth.   
"She didn't go into details," letting her hands slide down to his chest.   
"Potions I suppose," he guessed. "Rowena knew far more than was good for her about such things."   
"Is that how she seduced you?" tracing out his moustache with one finger.   
"No!" he protested. "I told you; we were young, I needed no artificial encouragements." He wound a lock of her hair around his fingers and sniffed it.   
"And now?"   
"You are my wife. Sometimes I find it difficult to control the desire I feel when I look at you," he said with a tremor of emotion.   
"Then come to bed." She began to unlace the ties at his neck; watching his eyes as she did so.   
Bowen let Kara's fingers finish their work. He stood; arms around her waist, and felt the blood rise as his heart beat faster. When she'd done, her hands dropped to his arms. "Are you going to stop there?" he asked with a wicked grin. "What about the rest?" and he stepped back. "Go on - finish it," wondering whether she could.   
Kara wondered too. The belt was no problem; the tunic lifted off easily - far easier than when she'd had needs to do it that first day they'd met. Next, she tackled his shirt. This was new and of fine, grey linen. Tugging it from the waist of his breeches, she soon consigned that to the floor. Where now? Shoes.   
Kneeling, she untied the cross-bands from behind his knees and unwound them; he obligingly stepped out of the shoes, leaving him barefoot on the boards. His grey hose was no problem either and her nimble fingers coped with the ties at his waist so that she could roll them down his legs. Again, he lifted his feet for her.   
All that remained were the grey linen breeches. Peering up at Bowen only revealed a bemused expression on his face. Grasping the ends of the cord that ran through the waistband, Kara pulled. The waist slackened and the breeches slid down over his hips to land around his ankles. He was naked. She gulped and his hands landed on her arms.   
"Would you rather continue this in our bed?"   
Nodding, she turned in his grasp, only to be scooped up in his arms and carried there. He set her down and tugged at the lacings on her shift. Her fingers closed over his and - momentarily - his eyes flicked up to regard hers. "Let me," she said softly. Standing, she grasped the garment and pulled it up over her head. No sooner had it hit the floor than she was swallowed up in Bowen's strong, muscular arms. Burrowing his face in her neck, she could nevertheless discern his words against her throat.   
"What good deed did I do to deserve you?"   
"Released me from a monster."   
His head whipped up. "Would any man have sufficed then?"   
"No; it needed someone special," and to silence him, she kissed his mouth and pulled him down onto the bed. 

********** 

Within a fortnight of his inauguration as Thegn, Bowen was called upon to put into practice one of his new vows: to tender service. Hewe came to the wooden fortress that late March day, breathless and agitated. Finding Bowen in the compound supervising a daily training session, the goat-herd ran straight towards him.   
"Bowen! Bowen! You have to come!" and succeeded in turning the man's attention to himself.   
"Take a breath, Hewe. Now - what's wrong?" as he placed a hand on the peasant's shoulder.   
"Raiders. They've attacked two villages not two leagues from ours. Taken food and animals."   
An older vow lanced Bowen's brain: 'his blade defends the helpless; his might upholds the weak'. "Has anyone been hurt?" he asked.   
"Not seriously."   
"And you think they'll attack your village next?"   
"We seem to be on a circuit and the only one left."   
"Do you still have your weapons?"   
"Yes; but without you to lead us, we're just an undisciplined mob." Hewe wasn't flattering Bowen, it happened to be the truth. The villagers might now how to use their weapons but not how best - or when.   
"Right; I'll come. Ralf!" he yelled to the youth who came running. "Pick out our best swordsmen - you know who they are - saddle up as many horses as we have and follow Hewe." He looked back to the one-eyed peasant. "I have to take my leave of Kara, she's unwell."   
"Oh? Nothing serious I hope," the man said in genuine concern for the woman he'd known all of her life.   
"Nothing that won't mend," and Bowen grinned. "Around Yuletide."   
"How can you be sure?"   
"Let's just say it's a distinct possibility." He clapped Hewe on the back and sprinted to the great mound on which sat the lodge buildings. 

********** 

It was warm for the season and Kara had opened some of the shutters in the chamber. Gwyneth sat on a rug in the ante-chamber, tethered like a dog to one of the support poles, but still with freedom to move around. When Bowen walked back in, both of his females viewed him with curiosity. His daughter clapped her hands and held out her arms to be picked up; but his wife knew that games were not on his mind.   
"Is something wrong?"   
He told her all that Hewe had said. "They need me," he added, fetching his leather armour and struggling into it. He wasn't entirely surprised when Kara lent her fingers to help buckle it.   
"Just be careful," she pleaded, not daring to engage his eyes for fear he'd draw tears from her.   
They both reached simultaneously for the last buckle; Bowen let Kara do it whilst he captured her face between his hands, tilted it up and kissed her firmly on the mouth.   
"Be certain of it; I've too much to come back for," and he laid one palm against her belly. "You'd never forgive me if I missed this - would you?"   
She launched herself into his arms and sobbed against the rough leather and metal buckles. "Forgive my foolishness," she begged, trying desperately to stem the flow of tears. Finding herself imprisoned in his embrace, she relaxed against him.   
"I can forgive you anything, love. Besides, your condition can account for this display."   
"If I am with child."   
"Well, we'll soon know." He released her; brushed hair away from her cheeks and kissed each in turn. "I must go." He buckled on the girdle and sword belt; finally, he snatched his blade, pulled the cowl over his head and turned his back. Bending to kiss Gwyneth, Bowen then strode to the door.   
"Watch your back," Kara warned.   
With one hand on the latch, Bowen glanced over his shoulder. "You know I will." 

********** 

An odd assortment of runners and riders left the fortress. Some of the older men now rode animals once belonging to Einon's band of tyrants; the younger ones were left to trot along as best they could, making the journey back to Hewe's village slower and more tedious than Bowen would have liked. Still, even if he and the horsemen went on ahead there was no guarantee the raiders would be there, but after careful consideration, he opted to do just that.   
Insisting that Hewe take one of the horses - for all the man couldn't ride well - Bowen led his small troop through the woodland and into the village where he'd first encountered Kara almost two and a half years previously.   
All was quiet; goats were being herded between the huts; women sat weaving baskets and small children played in the dust, but the hairs on the back of Bowen's neck began to tingle. He edged his horse closer to Hewe and leaned across.   
"This doesn't feel right," he confided.   
"I was just thinking that; no one's singing."   
Reining in his mount, Bowen drew his sword. "Ambush!" he shouted.   
The handful of riders around him - suitably alerted - fanned out ready to tackle the raiders when they came out of hiding. Half a dozen men emerged from various huts, brandishing swords and letting rip with blood-curdling battle cries. Each peasant - just as he'd been taught - faced his opponent and cut him down in one easy manoeuvre; in fact, it was too easy.   
Having taken care of four men between them, Bowen called a halt. "Let them go!" he ordered. The two reprieved raiders scurried away into the undergrowth. "Make sure no villagers have been hurt!" Dismounting and keeping hold of his sword, Bowen beckoned for Hewe to follow him. "Where's your family?"   
"Safe, Bowen," and he pointed to where they all stood.   
Sheathing the blade, Bowen then said: "This was a test of our strength."   
"I don't understand."   
"They send half a dozen men, just to test our reactions. I dare gamble they watched our every move.   
Suitably alarmed, Hewe turned in circles, screwing up his one eye in an attempt to pick out anyone - anywhere. "There's no one, Bowen."   
"Not close - no. They could have seen us approach; seen how many of us came. We have to be better prepared. You must post a night-watch and perimeter guard; I'll leave these men here to do just that. In the meantime, my priority is the fortress. With all due respect, Hewe, a few bags of grain and a handful of animals is hardly worthy of swordsmen. These are just an advance party with a greater target in mind."   
Now Hewe understood. "You," he said. "A challenge to your new authority. We could end up with another Freyne - or Einon," and he spat. "You'd best go back, Bowen; we can manage here. Send for us if you have need; you are our leige lord," and he dropped his chin in respect.   
Gripping Hewe's shoulder, Bowen thanked him. Remounting, he rode home alone. 

********** 

Everything looked and sounded as it should when Bowen rode back into the compound. Ralf ran to greet his mentor; grabbing the reins of the panting horse, only to be cross-questioned by the new thegn.   
"Is everything alright, Ralf? My family?"   
"All well, milord."   
Bowen's eyebrows arched and the corners of his mouth twitched at the form of respect. He dismounted and gently chastised the youth. "It's just a formality, Ralf - the title; I haven't changed since you first came here to learn."   
"No, s-; Bowen," grinning as he used the name. A hand landed on his shoulder.   
"Keep them at it, Ralf, we may need them sooner than expected." He led the horse to the stables with the youth scampering behind him.   
"You think they'll come here?!" he exclaimed in excitement.   
Bowen halted and regarded the young man. "Aye, lad, I do. Those were trained swordsmen; the villages were trials. I think someone wants this place."   
"Who?"   
Smiling, Bowen answered: "If I knew that I'd be a happier man."   
"Then we need to practice," Ralf decided. "I'd best get back to them," and he raced away. 

********** 

It was close to noon when Bowen walked back into his chamber; unbuckling his sword belt as he went. He looked around; the place appeared deserted so he called out Kara's name whilst he unbuckled girdle and armour. When she walked from behind the screen, he was shocked by her appearance; deathly pale.   
His hands automatically fastened onto her arms. "My God, Kara, what's wrong?"   
"I'm just sickly that's all."   
"You weren't like this carrying Gwyneth."   
"Perhaps we're mistaken; maybe I'm not with child, it is a bit soon to know; I'm not even late."   
"Yet," he added. "Can you help me out of this?" hoping to divert her mind.   
Trembling fingers fumbled with the lacings holding the armour in place.   
"Hey," Bowen soothed, taking her hands, "your fingers were steadier than this a fortnight ago," he reminded with a smile; but when she suddenly slumped against him, his attitude altered dramatically.   
"Brother Gilbert!" he shouted; hoping the priest was within earshot. At the same time, he scooped up Kara and swept into the bed-chamber with her. He'd just laid her on their bed when Gilbert virtually fell through the chamber door.   
"Bowen?" called the priest.   
"Here, Brother; come through." Sitting on the bed, Bowen was patting Kara's face to waken her; he screwed around as Gilbert padded past the screen.   
"Oh, dear Lord," he invoked in concerned shock, "what's happened?"   
"She fainted; but she was unwell when we arose this morning."   
Stepping closer, Brother Gilbert enquired: "Is there any fever?"   
"None that I can detect." He looked up at the monk. "You are welcome to test for yourself."   
Leaning over Kara, Gilbert laid the back of one hand against a cheek, then his palm across her forehead. "Mm; seems normal to me. Any vomiting?"   
"No; just nauseousness."   
"Um; I would ask the most obvious... "   
"Kara may be carrying a child - yes; but neither of us is sure."   
"Women usually know these things, Bowen."   
"Yes, I know; but even so, she never had fainting fits with Gwyneth."   
"I think you need to consult with a midwife rather than rely on my poor skills."   
Kara sighed as she came out of the faint, drawing Bowen's attention - and his hands - to her comfort.   
"Kara, can you hear me?" and he rubbed one of her hands rather roughly.   
"Bowen?" Her eyelids drew back and she moistened her lips.   
Gilbert noticed. "Do you have any milk here?"   
"In the outer chamber; a pitcher has goat's milk in it," Bowen directed and the priest pottered out. Bowen changed his position to sit at Kara's shoulder, then lifted her from the pillow to rest in the crook of his arm. "How do you feel?"   
"Strangely; better," she replied in a more normal tone. Then Gilbert returned and offered a wooden cup to Bowen. She eyed the monk then her husband. "You sent for him just for a fainting fit?"   
"You frightened me," Bowen defended, "you're not the fainting kind."   
She bestowed a sweet smile on Gilbert. "Mark what you heard, Brother; my husband fears a faint."   
"I think he had cause, you looked more like a corpse when I came in. I'm glad to see you so soon recovered," he said with conviction. "Remember what I said, Bowen."   
"What?" Kara wanted to know.   
Bowen answered: "That you had better need of midwifery skills than his."   
"I think we'd best wait before we conclude that's the cause."   
Gilbert then took his leave. Bowen was able to get out of his armour and tell Kara of the morning's events before coming in for attention from his daughter who had thankfully slept through the drama. 

********** 

Another week passed without any signs of raiders. Bowen recalled the horsemen from Hewe's village but intensified the training programme. What he really wanted was more horses; they only had six, plus his own; but in order to buy them, he needed to trade. Growing a surplus crop of wheat to sell - either as grain or flour - was one way, but the harvest was four months away. Bartering was the next option; but with what?   
A good mount could cost as much as weapons, and he needed both. Maybe a horse trader would consider swapping an animal for accoutrements for another. With that in mind, Bowen sought out the saddler, farrier and smith. In one morning, he'd set in motion a scheme of manufacture purely to sell and not for need, all the while hoping that there would be time enough to realise the plan before the raiders did decide to strike again.   
In the meantime, Kara now had cause to wonder if she were again carrying a child - she was a week overdue her monthly cycle. Her health had improved since the day she'd swooned; not so her temper, everything seemed to spark her anger.   
That evening when Bowen walked into the kitchen of the lodge, he walked into a blazing argument between Kara and one of the young girls who brought dairy produce for the thegn and his dependants.   
" ... how can you be so stupid?!" Kara was berating the poor child.   
"Hey! What's all this?!" Bowen cut into the chastisement.   
Immediately, Kara rounded on him. "Stay out of this, Bowen! I've been told it's my place to discipline servants!"   
"Servants? This girl is no servant, Kara; we pay for what she brings."   
"Then tell her to bring what I ask!" she ranted back.   
Bowen scowled at his wife; she wasn't normally so uncharitable. With an encouraging smile to the cowering child, he lowered his voice to Kara. "Let me deal with this; go and tell Gwyneth her father has come home."   
Whether it was the tone of his voice or the sheer fact it was he who commanded, but Kara silently walked from the kitchen.   
Turning to the girl - little more than twelve or thirteen years old - Bowen beckoned her forward. Reluctantly, she did as bidden.   
"Now; tell me what happened here."   
She began by falling on her knees and mumbling apologies. "Forgive me, milord; we hadn't enough goat's cheese today to bring what your lady asked." She saw the hand reach down and feared it was about to cuff her ears; she covered her head with her hands. It withdrew. She heard Bowen sigh and looked up at him.   
"Don't you know me, girl?" he asked sadly.   
"Aye, sir; you're Bowen."   
"Then where have you been hiding these past two years?" he grinned.   
"Nowhere. My father says I'm good for naught."   
"Does he beat you?"   
"Aye, sir."   
"Well I won't. Get up," he commanded, offering his hand to aid her. She refused it. "Why did my wife become angry?" he asked when she'd risen.   
"I don't know, sir; she isn't usually so bad tempered." Straight away, she bit her lip and blushed.   
"No, she isn't."   
His admission shocked her. "But it's not my place to say, sir; I'm sorry."   
"Listen, er - what's your name?"   
"Agatha, sir."   
He frowned. "Agatha, you've no need to address me as: sir; Bowen will do. And my wife's name is Kara; she was born into peasant stock just like you; she's the one to ask your forgiveness. Leave now; I promise that when you come again, Kara will be in a better mood!" and he smiled. 

********** 

Mother and daughter sat on the woven mat in front of the hearth. When Bowen entered the chamber, both looked up at him. Going to them, he stooped down.   
"Hello, lass; how's my sweet thing today? You were asleep when I left."   
"Da-da," the sixteen month old child uttered; clambering up on chubby legs to totter towards him.   
Bowen caught her just before she came to grief against his knees, and swung her up into his arms as he pulled up to his full height. "Shall we see what Brother Gilbert has for you today?" To Kara, he said quietly: "We must talk, love, when I return."   
Return he did only moments later, a broad smile on his face. "I still think our monk missed his calling; he'd have made a wonderful father; Gwyneth adores him. He's made her a game of coloured wooden shapes." He shook his head in amusement.   
Kara now sat in a chair beside the hearth, a mournful expression on her pale face. "Has the girl gone?"   
"Yes." He strode over to Kara's chair, gripped its arms and crouched down before it; one knee either side of her legs. "What's wrong, love?" he questioned gently, looking up into her face, but she refused to engage his eyes. "Kara; look at me." She wouldn't. Grasping her chin in one hand, he forced her eyes to his. "Are you unwell?"   
"I... I'm not sickly."   
"Then why speak so badly to the girl when the fault wasn't hers?"   
"You questioned her?" Kara said in surprise, looking intently at him.   
"Yes." He let go of her chin as she pouted back at him.   
"She's pretty."   
"She's a child."   
"Not for much longer I think."   
"What do you mean?"   
"You seem unconcerned that I... that we haven't... "   
It was Bowen's turn to pout. "What?! You've not been well; you'd think me a lout if I pursued you under such circumstances."   
"I'm well enough now but... but I have no appetite for it."   
"So? You will. Besides; I love you - you are my companion in life."   
"And I've never refused you before, Bowen."   
"Is this the cause of your melancholy?" He laughed; knelt and captured her face in his hands. "Love sets us above animals, Kara. Love without lust. For almost three years you've been in my life; for less than that, in my heart and - even more recently - in my bed. You are the mother of my most precious gift in life and like to gift me again. My love," and he knelt closer, "nothing can diminish that and a few nights - even weeks - without the added intimacy between us, is little to bear. It - doesn't - matter," he said slowly and carefully.   
Even as he spoke, Bowen expected that Kara would burst into tears. When he saw the first trickle on her cheek, he pulled her from the chair to kneel with him, and cradled her carefully against his chest. Her sobs were long and sent a shudder through him too.   
In the end, she saturated both his tunic and the shirt beneath it. So much for so small a thing; yet he knew just how much that meant to her. He'd been wrong to assess Gwyneth as the most precious gift Kara had given him; her body had been. 

PART 2 - SKIRMISH 

They came at the end of April. By that time, the garrison at the fortress had half a dozen more horses and the men to ride them; enough weaponry to match that for the rebellion against Einon and confidence enough to face an army let alone a few raiders. Also, Kara knew that she was definitely pregnant again.   
No more had been said about her loss of sexual appetite; in fact, just as Bowen had predicted, she regained it - shortly before the raiders struck.   
The morning that the alarm was raised, Bowen and Kara lay in each other's arms after a tender reunion in which she both laughed and cried at her own ability.   
"I told you," he said, "why didn't you believe me?"   
"Because I thought you were just being kind."   
"I was; but I meant it." He made to kiss her again but a thunderous banging on the chamber door forestalled any furtherance of this particular romantic interlude. Groaning, Bowen slid out of bed; found his breeches; pulled them on and plodded to the door. On opening it, he was greeted by Gilbert twittering a very garbled message.   
"Ralf came into the kitchen... we knew you weren't up... but then, I'm usually around before anyone else... he said there are riders approaching."   
"Riders? Do you mean traders or warriors?"   
"He said horsemen; not men with horses."   
"Armed?"   
"He thinks so."   
"It's not enough to think. Go tell him to ensure the gates are barred; that everyone is safely within the compound then for them to retreat into the lodge. It's time to call out the garrison, Brother." Bowen added with a wry smile: "Bring your bow."   
Gilbert nodded and scooted along the passage. Bowen closed the door and returned to his wife.   
"Did you hear?" he asked Kara.   
"Yes," and she slid - immodestly - up against the pillows.   
Bowen gawped. Was it only minutes ago that he'd tasted that flesh? He couldn't bear to look at her anymore and began hunting around for the rest of his clothing. He heard her leave the bed; sensed that she too was dressing and peered over one shoulder as he tucked shirt into breeches. She was clothed.   
Kara went barefoot to where Bowen's leather armour hung on a cross-pole. She lifted it down - it was heavy but she managed it - and took it to him. By that time, he'd added hose, shoes and tunic to his attire.   
"Let me help you into this," she offered.   
With pride at her fortitude, Bowen took the heavy garment from her and put it on. He allowed her to lace it; her fingers steady and sure, whilst he admired the sheer beauty of her. When she'd completed the task, he picked up his girdle and slung it around his midriff, fastening it into place. She beat him to the belt he prized so much; laying it across her palms and offering it to him.   
He took it without a word - there was no need of any, her face said everything inasmuch as it echoed his own reluctance to leave. Instead, he wrapped the belt around his now-thickened waist and buckled it.   
"Will you hand me my sword belt?"   
Picking up the sheathed sword and its belt, Kara asked: "Is this a serious threat?"   
Taking the weapon from her hands, he said in all honesty: "Anytime two men face each other with one of these, it's serious - as you can testify."   
"But you don't know who's out there," watching him adjust the belt on his hips.   
"We soon will."   
Impulsively, Kara shot herself against Bowen's body. "Please take care."   
"You always say that," he said, embracing her, "and I always do."   
"I wish I were coming with you," she said earnestly.   
"Not in your present state, surely?"   
"I would; you know I would."   
"Yes; but you cannot." He kissed her forehead; cheeks then - more passionately - her mouth. "I'll be back for more of that," he promised. "Kiss the lass for me." Then he was gone. 

********** 

An air of expectancy hung over the compound. The only living souls to be seen were all men and youths; not a woman, child or animal was in sight. The beasts had been herded into the barns and granary; the women, children and frail men were now ensconced within the lodge buildings atop the vast mound.   
Striding through the midst of the men and silence, Bowen summoned the most experienced of his band of brothers; chief among them, Hewe readily stood waiting.   
"I've got sentries on the palisade boardwalk; archers at the main gates and our horsemen await your command, Bowen," the goat-herder informed his thegn.   
"Well done, Hewe; I think we're ready. Have they been sighted?"   
"Not since I sent Brother Gilbert to rouse you."   
"Show me where they were seen," Bowen requested, cupping Hewe's elbow and walking to the steps leading up to that walkway around the inside of the palisade.   
Taking a steady circuit of the stout fence, Bowen kept a keen eye open for the slightest movement in the pasture. On the edges of the grassland, bracken rose in a waist-high screen of undergrowth; beyond that, the perimeter of the forest offered plenty of cover for any number of men. Screwing up his eyes, Bowen then shaded them against the morning sunlight.   
"Where exactly were they seen?" he asked Hewe; not taking his gaze from the view.   
"To the north."   
"North?" and he quickened his pace to that portion of the complex. Gripping the points of two stakes that made up the palisade, Bowen scanned more carefully. Sure enough, just visible at the treeline were maybe a dozen horsemen. "Warn everyone to be alert," he advised. "They'll most likely send a volley of arrows to begin. But they," pointing to the riders, "will storm the gates." He regarded Hewe with a grim expression. "Are you ready for that, Hewe?"   
Tapping the hilt of the sword hanging at his waist, Hewe affirmed that he was. "You taught me well, Bowen and I've mastered the horse."   
"Then you ride beside me." He smiled briefly. "Come, we need to inspire our troops. As soon as those riders make a move, we take to horse."   
Looking at the sky, Bowen was reminded of the season. His brain calculated something else and brought Erin to mind. She was conceived at this time, twenty-three years before. Once this madness was settled, he promised himself to visit her again and the child that bore his name.   
"Bowen!" a voice hailed. "Archers!"   
Alert once more, Bowen repeated his orders. "Make sure of your shot! An arrow misdirected can be used against you!" He ran around to the towers beside the gateway where Hewe stood already.   
"No movement from those riders, Bowen. You think they'll come?"   
"Be sure of it, Hewe."   
Come, they did. Just as Bowen predicted, a hail of arrows arced over the palisade; but his own archers returned it - two-fold - felling half of their opponents on the ground below. A cheer of victory went up to be followed swiftly by a word of caution from the marshal.   
"We've not won yet! Have a care! Watch!" Bowen bellowed. No sooner had he spoken than the horsemen charged towards the main gates. To Bowen it seemed like suicide; they were easy targets for the archers above them, but the riders raised their shields as arrows rained down on them. Leaning out, Bowen tried to see better what was going on directly below him.   
Two men had dismounted and were emptying sacks of straw against the gates, piling it up. Horrified, Bowen knew exactly what they planned to do. He yelled at the top of his voice: "They're going to try and burn down the gates!"   
A group of youths went down into the compound and began filling buckets with water drawn from the well; they proceeded to dowse the gates with it in the hopes of dampening any fire before it took hold. However, the attackers brought more materials to add to their fire - bags of bones that burned strongly.   
Seeing no other way out of the situation, Bowen ordered his own riders to mount up. With Hewe by his right hand; young Ralf on his left flank and ten men behind, Bowen ordered the gates to be opened. As soon as the aperture was big enough, he led the charge straight into the disorganised group beyond the boundary.   
Two riderless horses immediately bolted and the men left behind cut down by the advancing cavalry. Hewe became separated from Bowen and pursued his own course of action, accounting for two more of the attack force. Meanwhile, Ralf spied an opportunity for glory. Turning his horse's head, he aimed for one retreating rider. However, he didn't see a second man riding full pelt for his own back.   
Bowen did. "Ralf!" he warned. "Watch your back!" himself speeding to the youth's defence. He caught up with Ralf's would-be assassin and dispatched him before he caught up with the boy. But as Bowen raised his sword for a second blow, he reeled in his own saddle as an arrow sped out of nowhere and caught him in the most vulnerable part - his side.   
Swaying, Bowen managed to remain in the saddle as well as turn his horse for home. With Kara's words ringing in his head, he knew he had to get back.   
"Bowen?" Hewe's voice questioned. "Are you badly hurt?"   
Clenching his teeth, the thegn gripped the arrow's shaft and replied: "It's... gone... deep," in breathy gasps.   
"Let me pull it out."   
"No! No. Leave it be 'til I get home. I've seen men bleed to death for wants of a cauterising iron." He knew the man didn't understand. "Pull it out too soon without the means to stem the bleeding, and you may as well finish me now."   
Hewe gulped. "As you wish." He grabbed Bowen's reins. "Come;I'm taking you home. Can you stay in the saddle?"   
"I'll try." His eyes closed; his knuckles blanched on the saddle pommel and his knees gripped the horse's flanks as he was led at full gallop, through the gateway. 

********** 

Hewe only just managed to get Bowen to the mound. All the way across the compound, he'd glanced sideways at his companion and friend. Every yard appeared to lance through Bowen as he fought to remain awake. The colour drained from his face and the arrow shaft twitched with the horse's momentum. Torn between speed and care, Hewe opted for the former; the sooner the wound was tended, the sooner Bowen would be safe.   
And he had to face Kara. Bringing back a dead husband would do her no good either. He was aware of the young woman's condition and how it was serving her - the last thing he wanted was for her to miscarry on top of everything else.   
At his back, the skirmish seemed to be turning in their favour. Cheers went up from the palisade at regular intervals. Now the mound's curving trackway - up to the lodge on top - had to be negotiated and he became aware of two other riders galloping to catch him. He slowed both horses to a walk.   
"Hewe!" one called. "Wait! We'll help!"   
Turning in his saddle, he saw Brother Gilbert slide from his. "I have to be quick," he told the priest.   
"He's set to fall from the saddle - oaf!" the monk uncharacteristically chided. "Either ride pillion or we carry him!"   
Shamed, Hewe wondered why he'd not thought of that. Because he'd not been taught to think; because he was a peasant; because he had no learning - that's why. "You'd best ride with him, Brother; I'll go on ahead."   
"Good idea," the monk praised with a wan smile. "And Hewe."   
"Brother?"   
"Forgive my insult; I... I saw it happen... I couldn't prevent it."   
Nodding, Hewe understood. Dropping Bowen's reins, he kicked his own horse forward, taking the slope with ease. 

********** 

Warning Kara was what Hewe dreaded. He blundered into the main building; skirted the kitchen and hall and carried on to the main chamber where he hoped to find her. When she suddenly appeared in the passage, holding Gwyneth by the hand, he came to an abrupt halt.   
"Bowen?" she queried, hurrying towards Hewe.   
"Alive - but wounded." He advanced and stopped her from rushing past him. "Can someone take the child for you?"   
She didn't hear. "How bad is it?"   
"It's an arrow," he hedged.   
"How bad?" she repeated.   
"Deep."   
A hand went to her throat. "Where?"   
"In the right side. Brother Gilbert's bringing him the last distance. I should go and meet him." Grasping Kara's shoulders, he gave her instructions. "Clear your table; find the priest's bag and have water and cloths ready. And, Kara - heat a poker." He turned around.   
Kara too turned. "Come, sweet thing, your father's sick, we have to be brave and help make him well." How much understanding a child of Gwyneth's tender age had, Kara couldn't tell, but she'd made a habit of talking to her daughter as if she were much older. At that moment, it gave her something to think about; involving Gwyneth prevented her from dwelling on Bowen...   
**********   
In the ante-chamber, Kara stripped the table of plates and bowls; she pushed the poker into the embers of the fire; filled a large bowl with clean water and turned the cauldron over the fire to heat up more. Finding some suitable cloth to be torn up and used as bandages, she set everything ready on a stool and went back out into the passage, intending to go to the priest's room for his medicinal bag. She never got that far.   
Coming towards her were Hewe, Brother Gilbert and Ralf; between them - stretched on his cloak - they carried Bowen, and her stomach rebelled. Her hand flew to her mouth but her feet refused to obey a similar move.   
"Go inside, my child," Gilbert ordered gently. "We have to work quickly. Go on."   
Dumbly, she obeyed and they followed her inside. Laying Bowen out on the table, they pulled the cloak out from beneath him and began stripping him.   
"Easy," commanded Gilbert, "don't disturb that shaft too much. The longer it is, the easier to pull it out - but not yet." But he snapped off the flights.   
"Can I help?" Kara's small voice asked.   
"Where's the child?" Gilbert countered.   
"Sleeping." She twisted her cord girdle around her fingers in her nervousness.   
"Then who better," and he smiled encouragingly at her.   
With four pairs of hands, they made short work of removing Bowen's upper garments; taking great care to slip each one over the arrow shaft. Then Gilbert began issuing orders to those about him.   
"Ralf; hold his shoulders. Kara; stand ready to hand me that poker. Hewe; be prepared to sit on him if he wakes!" raising his eyebrows as he looked directly at the man. "Right, is everyone ready?"   
To a chorus of: "Aye," Gilbert flexed his fingers. One set curled around the shaft; the other braced themselves against Bowen's flesh. Slowly, the monk withdrew what remained of the arrow; as the head appeared, he called to Kara to bring the poker. Once the point had cleared the flesh, a great gush of blood followed in its wake. Dropping the arrow, Gilbert snatched at the poker and forced it against the wound.   
Bowen woke up. His body shuddered; his throat let go of a scream; a fist connected with his jaw. Hewe had thought it a better move than sitting on him.   
"I hope that wasn't a hanging offence," muttered the peasant.   
"What?" Gilbert asked, feigning ignorance.   
"Punching a thegn."   
"Did you see anything?" Gilbert asked Ralf.   
"No," the boy answered, liking the game.   
Hewe smiled. Then he remembered Kara. "Are you alright, girl?"   
"Yes. Is Bowen?"   
"He will be," Gilbert assured her. "I'll bind the wound now; you can help me if you wish, then we can put him to bed to recover." 

********** 

He was flying with Draco high above Avalon; but this was no ruin below them. Lights glowed from every window; a pennant fluttered on a pole high on the tallest tower - its emblem of a sword within a circle bringing back a sharp memory.   
"Arthur," he whispered. "We won. Because of you; we won." It hurt to breathe and he commanded Draco to set him down. "Enough now, Draco; I need to rest." He felt dizzy even before the stone columns loomed up before his eyes.   
"Do you think she'll have me, old friend? Do I expect too much from her?" He sucked in his breath and bit his lip. "Where are you going?" He called out in anguish: "Draco! Draco; come back...!" 

********** 

She sat watching him. He slept; but it was an uneasy sleep not at all like the nights she'd lain awake just staring in awe at him. Brother Gilbert had told her that the following two days would be the most critical; they turned out to be the longest of her life. But the nights were even worse.   
Mercifully, Gwyneth appeared to sense there was something different going on and was a model child. The normally boisterous, inquisitive girl contented herself whilst her anxious mother was otherwise occupied. Now, Bowen's daughter slept more peacefully than he did.   
Kara laid a hand against his brow; it felt hot. His mouth began to move and she thought he was waking - but no. She fancied she heard him call out the name: Arthur. The king, or his own dead son? Next, he spoke Draco's name. Was Bowen seeing the dead? Had they come to take him away from her?   
"Do you think she'll have me...?"   
Was he thinking of her even at his own death? "You know I will," and she caressed his face.   
" ... I expect too much... "   
"Oh no; you never expected too much," she sobbed against his cheek.   
"Draco, come back...!"   
His right hand shot up in the air startling Kara awake. She'd fallen asleep across his chest. Raising her head, she peered at his face. "Bowen?" Sitting up, she felt his skin; it was cooler. "Bowen? Can you hear me?"   
His eyes opened; he squinted. "Kara?" he croaked. "Where did Draco go?"   
"Ssh," she soothed, brushing a long tendril off his forehead. "He had to go; don't you remember?"   
A frown replaced the squint; he moved - and yelped in pain. "What...?" as he glanced down at the great swathe of bandages around his ribs.   
"Be still, Bowen; you'll open the wound again."   
He groaned, and even that shot a bolt of pain through him. "An arrow," he rasped. "I was struck by an arrow." He snatched at her hand. "Did we route them?"   
"Yes, they've gone." She took his hand. "Now will you rest?"   
"You've been crying," he observed. "Was I that close to death?" sensing her anguish.   
"I... I thought so. You called out for Arthur - and Draco."   
"Ah; I remember now... "   
"Did you see your son, Bowen?" she asked cautiously.   
"No - the king." He smiled and kissed her fingers. "What else did I say?"   
She repeated the fragments she'd managed to discern.   
"No; I think I said: do I expect too much from her?" he explained. "Somehow, I was back at Avalon before we wed; but it was Avalon as it must have looked when Arthur lived. I was questioning Draco... " He sighed. "Dreams are strange things," and he clutched her hand tighter.   
"Are you hungry? Thirsty?" she thought to enquire.   
"For what?!" he threw back.   
"I see you're recovered."   
Bowen laughed - and wished he hadn't. "Yow! Jesu!" he hissed. "Kara, how long have I lain here?"   
"Two days and nights."   
"Two days!" he echoed. "And what's been happening out there?" pointing to the shutters.   
"Nothing out of the ordinary."   
"And you - are you well?"   
"I've been fine."   
"Kara; the truth."   
"It is the truth. Yes, I've been worried, but other than that... "   
"Has the nausea stopped then?"   
"No, but that's to be expected. Nothing else, Bowen; I swear."   
"Embrace me," he pleaded.   
"I may hurt you."   
"You could never do that." He met her eyes and gulped.   
Carefully, Kara leaned across Bowen's torso, placed her hands on his shoulders and burrowed her face in his neck. Surprisingly, he pulled her closer and joy filled her at his touch. "I love you so much," she said into his ear.   
"I know, and can never imagine why."   
She broke free so she could tell him to his face: "Because you are all a man should be; I am fortunate that you wanted me."   
"I think I'm envied," he told her.   
"I know I am," she levelled at him.   
"Kara; would you have remarried?" he shot at her.   
"What?!"   
"A woman alone - with children... you'd need protection."   
"Erin manages," she said sharply.   
"Erin was raised to expect nothing else."   
"Then I'd have her teach me. Bowen; don't speak of such things."   
"It could happen; I am older than you."   
"No one else will touch me!" she vowed.   
"Whoa! I wasn't bartering you," he placated.   
"How could I love anyone else after you?"   
"You might."   
"No," and she moved away from the bed.   
"I hope you would," he said gently and sincerely.   
Spinning around, she challenged: "You once told me you never expected to marry again."   
"I think men do not fall in love as easily as women."   
"Nor did I ."   
"Because of Einon?" he ventured.   
Rocking on her heels, she replied: "Even before then."   
"Then Fate chose you for me - or me for you." He held out his hand for her to return to him. When she did, and sat on the bed, he pulled her down, banished the pain and kissed her. 

********** 

A few days into May - a couple after his injury - Bowen had a visitor. He was still confined to bed - despite protests that he was well enough to leave it - bolstered with pillows so he could see what was going on, and dressed in a shirt; not for modesty, but to give Gwyneth a hand-hold when she clambered up to her father. She sat beside him on a particularly sunny morning when Kara told him who had arrived.   
"Erin is here."   
Puzzled, Bowen asked why.   
"She heard about your injury."   
"Has she brought the boy?" he asked expectantly.   
"Yes," Kara answered calmly.   
"Does she know you're carrying again?"   
Kara's eyes lowered. "I... I don't know."   
"Come closer."   
Lifting Gwyneth from the bed and setting her on the floor, Kara took her place beside Bowen.   
"Perhaps we can persuade her to stay," he suggested. "She'd be company for you."   
"You want your grandson here,"she accused.   
"Of course; but that's not the only reason. She's young, Kara; all the other women here are much older than you." He tried to win her approval with a smile.   
"We can ask. Shall I fetch her?"   
"Please." But he didn't let Kara go without kissing her first. Looking down at his daughter, he said to her: "Your mother's jealous, lass."   
"Mama," Gwyneth said, "gone."   
"She'll be back, sweet thing." 

********** 

Erin entered the chamber with her son cradled in her arms. The babe was now a full three months old and thriving; his mother too. Still elegant in her black robes, she glided across the room to where her father lay.   
Bowen looked up as she appeared around the edge of the screen; he had to admire her, she looked every inch the Pagan priestess. But then his eyes fell upon the swaddled bundle in her arms; the child he'd not seen since the infant was a fortnight old.   
"Bring him here, Erin; let me see him. I had planned to come to you - but then this happened," indicating his right side.   
"How is it?" she asked coolly, rocking her son.   
"Better; but they won't let me leave this bed."   
"They? Who are: they?"   
Pursing his lips, Bowen said: "Brother Gilbert and Kara."   
"Out of concern no doubt. Let them fuss over you, Bowen if it pleases them to do so."   
"But I'm no longer weak," he protested.   
"Until you set your feet to the floor," Erin said knowingly.   
"I have to do that out of necessity," and he winked at her.   
"And how do you feel then?"   
"Fine," he lied; a chink sounding in his voice.   
"Hm; I think not." She sat down carefully on her father's bed and pulled back the shawl from his namesake's face; angling the babe so Bowen could see him.   
Bowen's eyes flicked from child to mother and back again. "He'll be like you, Erin; his features are finer than mine."   
"He's like his father," she informed her own.   
"Oh." It took Bowen by surprise. In all of this, he'd not given thought to the man who'd sired the child. "Who was he, Erin?"   
"A young man who loved me enough," she said wistfully.   
"To give his life for the pleasure of one night with you?!" Bowen scorned.   
"If it's a name you want, I'll tell you: Caradoc. He was my equal in age; a believer in the Once Ways - that Pagan faith you so despise - and before you ask; yes, we were lovers before that last Beltane, just as you and Mam were."   
"But I was not murdered for my sin."   
"Why can you not understand the principal of Sacrifice for Redemption? You accept that your Christ did the same."   
"Not quite the same thing."   
Erin sighed. "Bowen, I did not come here to debate with you; I came out of respect for who you are and what you achieved. I also came to inform you that you have an enemy. His name is Aelfric and he comes from the north."   
"How do you know?" and he tried to sit forward;winced then sank back.   
"I know." She engaged his eyes - blue on blue.   
"Witchery," concluded Bowen with contempt.   
"I am gifted with the Sight; as was my grandmam. It isn't witchery, Bowen," she insisted. "I do 'see' and sense things. Your wife is with child - a boy."   
"Am I supposed to believe that you know that by some means other than common knowledge and wishful thinking?!"   
"She'll carry roughly; deliver early, but all will be well," Erin pronounced.   
Shaking his head in hot denial, Bowen refused to believe a word. "We'll see," he said. "Now can I hold the boy?"   
Erin placed her son gently in his grandfather's arms, leaned to kiss the tiny face then Bowen's cheek. He flinched; jolting his side and startling the babe awake. Large, blue eyes looked up into the bearded face.   
"Easy," crooned Bowen and the boy settled again. "What was that for?" he asked softly of Erin.   
"Because I know you love him - and I need no sixth sense to tell me; just a woman's eye."   
"Will you stay? Please; for Kara's sake. She's been unwell; more than the normal nausea. There is a room here that my mother once used."   
"Do you really want me to stay? To have a Druid lie under your roof. As Thegn, does that go against your oath?"   
"No, it doesn't; and yes - I want you to stay."   
Stay she did. 

********** 

Kara's feelings had softened towards Erin since she'd helped the girl deliver; but even so, she was suspicious of the dark haired beauty, and just a little afraid of her.   
"Why didn't she come sooner?" Kara asked of Bowen that same evening as they ate supper.   
Munching on a leg of chicken, Bowen explained: "It was the Great Festival; Beltane." When Kara continued to glare at him, he added: "May Day; as a Druid, it's the greatest event of her year."   
Kara screwed up her face. "As long as she doesn't practice her ways here."   
"She won't." He dared ease himself to the edge of the bed; throw back the blanket and put his feet to the floor. Taking a deep breath, he slowly forced his body to an upright position.   
"Where are you going?" Kara asked from her chair.   
Staggering, Bowen eyed his wife. "Do you really need to ask?!"   
"Oh."   
"Want to help?!" he said with a playful grin.   
"No! Don't be vulgar, Bowen."   
"Vulgar?! As if I would. If you hear a loud thud then you'll know I didn't manage on my own."   
"Seems you have before."   
"Brother Gilbert's been here before - to stand behind me," he added swiftly. "Don't worry, love; your privileges haven't been violated!" and he shuffled across the room.   
She didn't hear a thud and Bowen returned safely - if a little weary. Rising from the chair, she did go to him and offer her shoulder for him to lean on and made sure he was comfortable back in the bed before clearing away the supper scraps.   
Halfway back to the screen, she felt a sharp pain down her left side. Gasping, she drew in a long breath and rubbed at the now-dull ache. At the wooden screen dividing bed-chamber from ante-room, Kara suddenly yelped and her knees buckled; she went down like a felled tree.   
"Kara!" Bowen called as he saw her reel and catch at the wood panelling. He tried to leave his bed both quickly and carefully and managed to reach her; sinking to his knees beside her. Lifting her veil of hair away from her averted face, he touched her shoulder. "Tell me," he urged, "where are you in pain?"   
"M-my... stomach." Kara raised her eyes to Bowen's face, reading every possible emotion there from fear to his own pain.   
"You don't think...?" He hardly dared to either. "Kara, are you bleeding?"   
"No, I don't... think so."   
"Can you stand? I can't lift you."   
"I'll try."   
With a great struggle, she inched herself up by using the screen as a crutch. Bowen hauled himself to his feet and tried to help her to the bed; it wasn't going well.   
"I have to call for help," he declared.   
"Like that? You're indecent, Bowen," referring to the fact he only wore a shirt, and it just about reached his thighs.   
"There's no time for modesty," he dismissed and groped his way to the chamber door.   
Every step was an effort; every movement brought pain into his side, but he had to banish the pain he knew the cause of to seek help for one he didn't. Even the oak door presented him with a problem. Sweat stood out on his brow as he gritted his teeth, turned the latch and pulled.   
Fortunately the door swung easily once unfastened and he stepped out into the passage where he yelled for someone to help him. The exertion forced him to slump against the massive wooden walls, near to fainting from fear as well as renewed pain.   
When help came there was a surfeit of it. Many people occupied the lodge, not just Bowen and Kara; but amongst those first on the scene were Brother Gilbert, Erin and young Ralf. Behind them came men and women of various occupations. A baker; thatcher; cook; seamstress and the saddler. But it was Erin who took charge.   
Gently, she took Bowen by the arm and turned him around. "Why are you out here?" she began to chide. "Where's - ?"   
" - it's Kara," he panted, "she's in some pain and I fear the worst."   
"Priest," she commaded, "take Bowen inside; I'll go to Kara." In the blink of an eye, she'd disappeared into the chamber.   
A little ruffled, Gilbert nevertheless took the order seeing the necessity in it. The youth stepped forward too.   
"Can I help, Brother?"   
"Aye, lad; bless you. Ralf, isn't it?"   
"Yes, Brother."   
Then Bowen added his voice. "Hurry, I have to get back to her." 

********** 

The two men forced Bowen to sit in a chair in the ante-chamber; the priest even threatened the thegn to stay still.   
"It's women's work in there and you can do nothing," Gilbert reasoned.   
"I was a man's work that started it - mine," Bowen acknowledged.   
"God is good; he'll not see her come to harm," preached the monk.   
Bowen's eyebrows raised in scorn. "You think not?" he challenged. "I've learned different. Erin!" he shouted, "what's going on?!" and, ignoring both Ralf and Gilbert, lurched to his feet and towards the bed-chamber.   
All he could see was Erin's back as she leaned over the bed. Again, he called her name, advancing at a funeral pace as he did so.   
She turned to face him, raising her hand to halt him. "Sit down you fool before you add to the harm here."   
"Never mind me, what of my wife?" still taking tentative steps to the bed.   
"I told you; she'll be well," Erin responded tartly, getting to her feet.   
"And the child?"   
"Troublesome, but well also." She offered her hands to help him; he ignored them.   
"Then what was it?" He'd reached the bed and saw Kara lying upon it seemingly rested and free of pain.   
"I'm no midwife, but I'd guess it pitched onto a muscle," pursing her mouth.   
"But, she's not much past two months." Bowen didn't see the logic in it.   
"So now you're the midwife," Erin said with a smug smile.   
Locking onto his daughter's eyes, he shot back: "No - but my mother was." Then he turned to his wife. "How are you, love?" sitting down carefully beside her.   
"Better. Erin has a magical touch," and she smiled at the younger woman.   
A nervous cough took everyone's attention towards the screen where Gilbert hovered. "Shall we leave, Bowen?"   
"You can come in, Brother Gilbert," Bowen invited. "Kara is mended now."   
He looked accusingly at Erin. "As long as it was God's will."   
"My hands actually," Erin almost spat back. "No harm will come to Kara - or her child, you have my word on that, priest."   
"I'll hold you to it," promised Gilbert solemnly.   
"Well, as I'm no longer needed here, I know where I am," and she lightly touched her bosom. "I wish you a fair night's rest, Bowen. Blessed be."   
"Goodnight - and thank you," he smiled warmly, receiving it back in kind.   
As Erin positively glided out of the chamber, Ralf's eyes followed her in awed wonder. Moistening his lips; putting his eyes back in their sockets and remembering where he was, the youth turned to face his thegn.   
"If you are well, Bowen, then I will take my leave of you and your good lady."   
"As you wish; but, Ralf."   
"Sir?"   
"Warn everyone to remain alert, this... Aelfric may return."   
"I'll tell them." He took a pace away, turned and asked: "Who was she?" in a definite smitten tone.   
"That, Ralf was Erin. A proud young woman; a Druid priestess no less," and seeing a gleam still in the lad's eyes, added: "And my daughter," aiming a warning glance at Ralf.   
"D-d-daughter?" he stuttered. "Oh," blushing crimson.   
"Oh, it's not me you need to worry about; she can more than take care of herself. She bedded a lad then had him murdered - sacrifice, they call it," he said scathingly.   
"Barbaric!" Gilbert put in.   
"I agree, Brother; Erin does not. So be warned; though you're safe enough this year," and Bowen grinned, "that festival has just passed."   
Confused, Ralf made a sharp exit and Bowen earned a rebuke from Kara.   
"That was cruel; you should have explained it better."   
"Oh, I will - if he still shows an interest. More to the point though; if Erin shows an interest in him."   
Brother Gilbert also took his leave and Bowen was again alone with his wife. Sundown saw Kara already asleep - as was Gwyneth - and Bowen decided to try sleeping too. 

PART 3 - HONOUR 

June brought a heatwave with it - and a second raid. Bowen was on his feet at least, if not one hundred percent fighting fit. The arrow wound had caused considerable bruising that - even a month after sustaining it - was still in evidence. Kara too had recovered and also passed beyond the nausea stage of her pregnancy; she and Erin were beginning to relax around each other and to compare notes on their children's progress.   
When the alarm bell on the gate-tower began to ring, Bowen was down in the compound instructing Ralf in sword techniques. For this exercise - as much to strengthen his own muscles - Bowen had reverted to the use of wooden swords for safety's sake; his own reflexes had been slowed down due to the injury.   
"Not so wide! Look as if you mean it!" and he whacked Ralf soundly on his rump for ignoring the previous command. "You won't hurt me with that; now come on!" he demanded.   
Gritting his teeth; wiping sweat out of his eyes with his sleeve and trying a two-handed grip, Ralf swung the mock sword around his head to engage Bowen's. A crack of wood on wood was immediately replaced by metal against metal as the bell clanged.   
Both stopped in mid-movement, stared at each other then around the compound.   
"Ralf, round up the horses," ordered Bowen, lowering his aching arms.   
"What are you going to do?" the panting youth asked.   
"Try to avoid an injury!" he replied with typical good humour. "I'll call our swordsmen to arms."   
"Let me fight beside you, Bowen - please. It was my foolishness that got you wounded last time; give me a chance to ammend that."   
The teacher regarded his student with that same pride he'd experienced since their first encounter. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Bowen nodded. "But do as I say first." Then he saw Kara come running towards him. Horrified, he ran to meet her. "Stop!" he commanded her. "What are you doing here?" forcing her to stand.   
"I heard the alarm."   
"Where's Gwyneth?"   
"With Brother Gilbert."   
"Then so should you be," his eyes widening as he spoke. Pinching her arms, he leaned to kiss her cheek. "Go back, love; please," he begged softly.   
"I'd rather be by your side than in there just waiting."   
"I know; but I'll be more at ease if you are inside. You must protect our daughter, and that one," tenderly stroking her belly. "This is what motherhood means," he joked with her.   
"So I am learning," she said sadly.   
"It does not diminish you," and he planted a kiss on her lips. "To me you are still beautiful." Then - to the surprise of those now gathering around him - Bowen crushed Kara to himself in a fierce embrace before kissing her passionately enough to make him want to take her inside.   
His fingers burrowed into her hair and she sensed the intensity of his emotions. Riding with the display, Kara let her own hands claim tendrils of Bowen's hair that hung about his neck and shoulders. She wondered how long he intended to hold her; long enough to quell his ardour she hoped.   
"Bowen," she whispered, "you must let me go."   
"I can't," he mumbled, "I need a moment."   
'Yes,' she thought, 'I can feel why!' Leaning back in his arms, she cupped his face in her hands, running her thumbs across his lips. "Come back and we can finish this," she murmured.   
"What an incentive!" as his smile widened beneath her fingers.   
"So don't be too long," and she disengaged herself from him.   
With loving eyes, Bowen stood and watched Kara walk away from him; she never once looked back and he guessed why. To do so would curse him; but more than that, it would show weakness for he knew for certain that she wept as she walked... 

********** 

By the time the raiders appeared around the perimeter of the fortress, Bowen had been laced and buckled into his armour once more; mounted his horse and now sat with sword gripped firmly in his left hand, waiting for the gates to open.   
"Remember," he turned to tell Ralf.   
"I know - watch my back," grinned the youth. "I'll make you proud of me, Bowen."   
"Just stay alive," the teacher replied grimly. "Open the gates!" he yelled.   
To a hail of defensive arrows from the palisade, Bowen and his troop rode out to meet their adversaries. He led the charge straight into the opposing force. Hacking left and right, he cut a swathe through Aelfric's cavalry, vainly seeking out his mystery enemy. All around him, men were being cut down; horses whinnied and fell, but no one man came forward to meet Bowen. Then he'd run out of men to fight.   
Wheeling his mount, he surveyed the scene. Most of his own troop still sat in their saddles; he searched anxiously for Ralf, sincerely hoping that the lad hadn't taken off in search of glory again. Then he saw him.   
"Ralf!" he cried out in alarm.   
Galloping towards Bowen, the young man had a broad grin on his face. "You were magnificent, Bowen!" Ralf exclaimed in unashamed hero-worship.   
"Watch your back!" screamed the thegn.   
Swerving to avoid colliding with Bowen's horse, Ralf saw his teacher's sword aiming straight at him! - but it hit home several feet beyond him.   
"Why can you never learn?!" Bowen ranted angrily, yanking the reins of the lad's horse.   
"I... I... thought - "   
" - no; you didn't! This is not a game, boy! You've seen what can happen! Now - look around you!" and he pulled on Ralf's sleeve.   
Bewildered, Ralf did look. The fight was still going on and he'd recklessly turned his back again on a potential assassin. He knew better than to apologise to Bowen; but for the teacher's quick reaction it would have been himself they carried back to the compound. Shamefaced, Ralf tugged the reins from Bowen's hands and kicked the horse into a gallop, back towards the gates.   
"Ralf!" Bowen barked; but the boy kept on going. Digging his heels into the flanks of his own horse, Bowen sought to give chase. But then - out of the melee - a new rider appeared taking him by surprise.   
Where had the man come from? Bracing himself, Bowen squinted in the morning sun, taking in both horse and rider. The former was a cream-coloured animal - like flax or buttermilk. On its back sat a large-framed, blonde-haired man with a bushy beard. He was clothed in russet leather over a green tunic; his leg coverings were the same colour as the armour, and he looked like he'd risen up from the earth itself; so natural were the colours he wore.   
He carried no shield but the hilt of his sword sparked a gold glow, even allowing for the sunlight, and it was raised in readyness. An equally ready smile crossed the divide between himself and the black-attired man who stared at him.   
"You are mine, I think, Thegn," a deep voice boomed out.   
"Aelfric?" Bowen questioned.   
"Aye; I see my reputation precedes me."   
"Just your name," Bowen qualified tersely.   
"Hah! Then I know more about you than you of me - Bowen," and he laughed heartily. "How's the side?"   
"Well enough to deal with you. Why are you doing this?"   
"A realm without a king is there for the taking."   
"It's been without a king for long enough. Why now?"   
"It was in disarray before, but you've moulded something here, Bowen; something worth the taking."   
"Over my dead body!"   
"If you insist!" and Aelfric slashed at Bowen; the blow being easily deflected.   
Gripping with his knees, Bowen turned his horse's head and lunged at Aelfric, catching the man on the arm and drawing blood. "First blood to me!" grinned the thegn.   
"And the last to me!" aiming his next blow at Bowen's legs.   
But the thegn saw it coming and turned his horse away from the blade. The momentum carried through, causing Aelfric to pitch forward in his saddle. Bowen raised his sword, bringing it down swiftly onto the man's shoulder blades.   
"Pity you never learned my best lesson: only expose your back to a corpse!" instructed Bowen, letting the blade cut into his opponent's flesh.   
Aelfric reeled out of his saddle, thudding to earth like a sack of oats. Bowen dismounted and stood over him, the point of his sword at the throat of his adversary.   
Gasping in pain, Aelfric looked up at Bowen. "I underestimated you... Thegn. You are a... worthy opponent. I yield to your skill."   
Faced with killing Aelfric or letting him go, Bowen's conscience did not permit murder. "Get up!" he ordered.   
"Hah! In truth, milord, I cannot."   
Clenching his teeth, Bowen repeated the command, kicking Aelfric's legs as he did so. "Then you'd better try!" he snarled.   
"Your hand would help."   
"Don't, Bowen!"   
Startled, Bowen's head cranked around to see Hewe racing towards him, his own sword at the ready. In the blink of an eye it was added as a threat to Aelfric.   
"He might have reservations about finishing you now - I don't!" spat the one-eyed peasant.   
"Are you going to let this scum undermine your authority?" Aelfric goaded, trying to sit up.   
"We are all equal here," retorted Bowen smugly, "and I'm sure Hewe would delight in you giving him the opportunity to prove it."   
"A peasant with a sword," and Aelfric spat on the ground.   
"I can use it," Hewe assured him.   
"I'll not die at the hands of scum!" He rolled over; gained his knees and staggered to his feet to be immediately grabbed by Hewe.   
"Where do you want him, Bowen?"   
"The forge; chain him there until I can deal with him."   
"What about my wounds?" Aelfric protested.   
"What about them?" Bowen said with a sickly smile. "I've lost good men because of your greed. I should let you die."   
"But you won't." It was a challenge to Bowen's honour.   
'No I won't,' thought Bowen. "We have a healer here; I'll send him to you." He looked at Hewe. "Make sure Brother Gilbert has a guard with him."   
Hewe nodded. "Come on," and he shoved the big man ahead of him. "Do we claim the horse, Bowen?" reaching for the reins as he passed the creamy animal.   
"Naturally; it will do for Kara; time she learned to ride properly."   
"A skill better taught to a woman in the bed-chamber!" Aelfic commented; then groaned as Hewe's foot connected with his backside.   
"Have some respect for our Lady!" and he forced the lout to walk faster.   
"Lady?! My, my, Bowen; so the stories are true, you did couple with a peasant. But to wed one; tut, tut; were you that hot for her?"   
"Shut up!" Bowen bawled, losing his temper sufficiently to add his own weight to urging Aelfric to move faster. "Take him out of my sight, Hewe, lest I forget my honour!" and he remounted his horse, riding it through the gates.   
"My father always said that women were a man's weakness!" Aelfric laughed.   
"You heard, dog! Shut up!" 

********** 

Erin accosted Ralf as he rode back into the cmpound. He was both pleased to see her yet a little afraid of her, this tall woman enshrouded in black like a raven, the only colour coming fom her gold circlet and amazing blue eyes.   
"Where is my father?" she asked coldly, gazing up at him as he still sat on his horse.   
"B-back out there," swinging his arm towards the gate.   
Erin's hands clasped across her stomach. "Were you not meant to guard his back?" Her eyes had gone even colder as she continued to stare at the youth, knowing full well how to manipulate him - or any man.   
"Yes... I did... but... "   
"So why are you here?" her voice steady yet authorative.   
Sliding from his horse, Ralf looked Erin straight in the eye. "I... I failed. He had to... he saved my life... again."   
"He trusted you!" her voice rising. "Do you know what manner of man has put such faith in you?!" and she poked Ralf in the chest.   
Dropping his eyes, then his chin, he mumbled: "Aye, Madam, I do."   
"Men like him are so few they demand our protection. And idiots like you dash about seeking misplaced glory and risk all that!" She was in full flow now. "By the gods!" half-turning from Ralf in her disgust. "'Tis no wonder this realm is in such a condition!" Swinging back, one of her braids whipped him across the cheek; he blinked.   
"I know, Madam," daring to engage her eyes. Then he blushed; but Erin smiled - almost leered - back at him.   
"I know things too - boy." She used the term as an insult. Tossing her long, dark hair, she leaned close to him; allowed one finger to rest on his leather tunic and whispered: "What's it worth, Ralf?"   
"Madam?" he queried.   
"What would you do to gain that which I know you desire?" Her finger mapped a trail down to his waist and out to his hip. She saw him squirm.   
"M-m-madam, I... I don't know what you mean," he spluttered.   
"Oh yes you do." Drawing closer, she let one hand glide beneath the skirt of his tunic. Feeling for - she found - evidence of her own knowledge. "This is not enough," she murmured, caressing him.   
Ralf closed his eyes as sweat broke out on his forehead and his heart hammered against his ribs. "Please," he begged, "I meant no disrespect to you," edging away from her roving hand to replace it with his two.   
"Disrespect?!" She laughed. "Most men here are curious about the Witch."   
"Witch?!" His eyes opened in horror.   
"Mm; they think I am. You see, Ralf, I do know certain things. You desire me but would never dare approach me. Why is that?"   
"You are a noblewoman," he said simply, "I'm a peasant."   
"So was Kara."   
He squirmed again. "That's different."   
"Because Bowen is a man?"   
"Y-yes."   
"You have much to learn; but are you willing?"   
"W-willing to do what, Madam?"   
"Accept me as your teacher - your mistress," she teased, edging the word in a double meaning.   
Ralf blushed again in shame. He hadn't expected this; it was all wrong; she'd almost seduced him - in broad daylight, in the open air! He closed his eyes and uttered a silent prayer to save him from being bewitched. It was answered.   
"Erin!" Bowen's voice rang out as his horse skidded to a halt close by; kicking up dust under its hooves. He almost leapt from the saddle and clamped a hand onto her arm. "What are you trying to do?! Seduce him as a sport!" he railed, shaking her.   
"No, Bowen; to teach him that neither life nor love is a game." She eyed her father confidently, forcing his hand from her arm in just that look. "Games cost lives," she reminded Ralf with an equally withering stare.   
"Like your child's father?" Ralf found courage to say.   
"That was no game!" and she turned on her heel, leaving both men staring after her.   
"I don't understand, Bowen," Ralf said honestly.   
Clapping the youth on one shoulder, Bowen said: "Then I'll try to explain." 

********** 

"A religious practice?!" exclaimed Ralf as he sat in the kitchen with Bowen.   
"Yes."   
Shaking his head, Ralf went on: "Then she's being maligned."   
"The thinking is: that she's a witch," Bowen allowed.   
"No, Bowen - a whore."   
"What?!"   
"She's unwed; has a child," as if it explained everything.   
"Whores seldom get themselves with child," Bowen said with a measure of cetainty. "If they do, they know the means to stop it."   
"But Erin didn't."   
"No; the child was the intent."   
"He's your - "   
" - grandson. Yes; don't remind me!" he said with a jolly grimace.   
"Bowen?"   
"Yes?"   
"Do I... may I...?" Ralf sighed. "She is a beauty," he commented.   
The proud father laughed. "Yes; yes, she is, and you want to woo her - hm?"   
"With your permission."   
"It's not mine you need to seek."   
"But... you stopped what was happening."   
"And what was happening, Ralf?" as he leaned closer.   
Red-faced, Ralf wondered exactly what had been. "She... she... "   
" - had your vitals in her hands," Bowen finished for the boy, a bemused expression on his face. "Yes - I guessed. It wasn't her intent I questioned," he confided, "just the scene of the event!" More seriously, Bowen said quietly: "You could do worse than lose your innocence to a Celt."   
"I'm not that innocent!" Ralf protested.   
"Hah! In the theory perhaps." Putting an arm around Ralf, Bowen made one condition. "Just treat her with honour - and no telling tales! Remember; she is my daughter."   
"Were you and her mother...?"   
" - lovers? Yes, lad; when we were both younger than you are now. We traded our innocence with each other; and that's all I'll tell you."   
"So you were not part of that ritual for which Erin's... lover died?"   
"No."   
"She wouldn't sacrifice me, would she?" he asked fearfully.   
"No! No; Erin has already played her part in that particular drama."   
"Do you think she was just toying with me though?"   
"Only one way to find out," and he rose to his feet. "Show her that you are not toying with her." With that, he left. 

********** 

The fact he'd not gone straight to Kara was to cause Bowen a verbal lashing. Steeling himself for her inevitable chastisement, he walked into the ante-chamber calling her name.   
"Forgive me for not - "   
" - I see the boy is more important now!" She swooped from behind the door to stop Bowen dead in his tracks.   
"Who told you?" recovering before he walked into her.   
"Hewe," she spat out. "He told me everything; including how you saved the life of that clod-head - again!" Her hands clamped onto her hips and she pouted at her husband.   
"He's not a clod-head, Kara; impulsive that's all."   
"Don't defend him to me!" she shrieked.   
"Calm down, love; remember the child."   
"Which one?!"   
"That one... " and he caught her meaning even as he gestured to her belly. "Ralf is no child."   
"Then tell him to stop behaving like one!"   
"When you do too." Bowen folded his arms and waited. "Besides, I think Erin may better persuade him than I!" he added with a sly grin.   
"Erin? What has she to do with this?" letting her hands drop.   
"Ralf is smitten with her, and I do believe my dear daught returns his interest." Bowen's arms dropped too.   
"You are joking?" edging slowly towards him.   
"No, love." His hands spanned her waist and pulled her closer. "Nor was I jesting about returning for this," and his mouth closed over hers in the most ardent of kisses.   
No one saw the thegn or his lady for the remainder of the afternoon. 

********** 

They'd fallen asleep in each other's arms. Bowen awoke first when his right side reminded him that he'd overworked it. Rescuing the imprisoned arm from beneath Kara's mass of curls, he sat up.   
Looking down at the healed wound, he muttered under his breath: "Why wake me? The dream was as pleasing as the pursuit that prompted it."   
Leaving Kara to sleep on, he slid silently from the bed and across to the latrine, glad that Gwyneth had spent the afternoon elsewhere. He returned to the sight of Kara slipping her shift on over her head. "I swear you're showing already," he told her.   
As the undergarment slid into place, Kara smoothed her hands over her belly then regarded her husband. "Hardly," she argued, "it's just your imagination."   
"Then you're eating too much!" and he made a playful grab for her.   
"Too much of you, perhaps," letting him embrace her.   
"Are you complaining?" as he bent to nuzzle her neck.   
"No; but we must be cautious," trying to push out of his arms.   
"Don't worry, love, I'm spent - for now," and he gave her a platonic kiss on her cheek. Picking up hastily discarded clothing, he then began to dress. "What am I to do with this raider?" he asked of Kara; tugging his shirt over his hips.   
"Hang him," she said curtly.   
Bowen swivelled to face her. "Without trial?!" he said, shocked by her coldness.   
"He'd have killed you; then what of us? Of me?"   
"Part of my new position is to administer justice - with mercy," inclining his head closer to her.   
"I repeat: what mercy would he have shown any of us?"   
"But I'm not him," Bowen said softly. "Nor would you wish me to behave so ruthlessly."   
"So put him on trial - then hang him," and she walked away.   
"Kara," Bowen called, hopping after her - one leg in his breeches.   
She turned and collided with him. Each apologised with their eyes.   
"Bowen; Hewe told me what the man said - about me."   
"And you'd condemn him for his foul mouth?" he asked incredulously; winning the fight over the breeches. "According to Ralf half the men here regard Erin as a whore; am I to hang all of them too?!" finally managing to secure the breeches.   
Pursing her mouth, Kara saw logic in the argument. "No," she answered quietly. She was seized by the shoulders and forced to engage his eyes. "Don't look at me like that," she commanded.   
"Like what?"   
"Like... like - "   
" - like I adore you?" he said with reverence.   
"You mustn't."   
His hands slid down her back and pulled her close again. "Why not? You have me as surely as you have your own soul," he murmured intensely.   
"Bowen," she resisted, placing her hands against his still-naked chest, "we must dress and meet with Hewe and the others."   
Reluctantly, Bowen released his wife and finished dressing. 

********** 

Erin had great plans for the Summer Solstice and they were to include Ralf. Bowen too had plans - but of a very different nature. He had to set up a fair trial for Aelfric; not an easy task, and he'd deliberated long and hard with Hewe, Gilbert, Kara and his conscience over it. Meanwhile, Aelfric's wounds had healed and mid-summer was upon them.   
The trial was set to take place in the Hall of the lodge; Gilbert was to act as intermediary and Aelfric would be allowed to speak on his own behalf. In accordance with old law, Bowen elected a dozen men to listen to both sides of the argument and to judge accordingly whether Aelfric be guilty or not of murder. Although the outcome was a foregone conclusion, this system had to be seen to be done - and done fairly. If Bowen were not fair with a nobleman then the common man would no longer trust him.   
During the fortnight that Aelfric had been held prisoner at the fortress, Erin had been seen in Ralf's company. It was hard to judge who courted who - but Bowen knew; in this   
case, Erin was definitely the hunter. He was pleased; he calculated that she'd maybe sober the lad, make him use his head a little more when necessity demanded. However, he did caution her on the morning that the trial was due to begin.   
"Go easy with him, girl," Bowen pleaded; fingers splayed into his belt as he watched her.   
"Easy? What can you mean?" a secret smile playing around her mouth as she braided a length of red wool into the hair at her temple.   
"He's the innocent here - in the ways of the flesh."   
"Yes, I know; for all he claims otherwise. Why must you men be so boastful on such matters?" she pondered.   
"I'm not," one hand touching his heart as he spoke.   
"You, sir, are an exception," tapping him on the chest and smiling warmly.   
"Is that why you tolerate me, Erin?" he wondered.   
Her hand flattened against the light-blue tunic he wore. "Your mother was a Celt, was she not?"   
"Yes."   
"And no doubt she instructed you in our ways."   
"As much as my father permitted."   
"No wonder you didn't balk at the Beltane Feast!" she said, eyeing him with a wicked slant.   
"Your mother and I were on equal footing then; Ralf is not."   
"Don't worry, Bowen, I'll not shame or embarrass him." She stepped back. "I do care for him; this is not a game I play."   
"That's all I came to hear." He leaned to kiss her cheek and was allowed.   


PART 4 - TRIAL 

For the second time in three months, the Hall thronged with people. Like that first time, they'd come to witness a rare event; except this one promised a greater thrill. Speculation ran high as the crowd gathered. On the raised dais chairs were set; a line of twelve on one side; opposite, two behind a table; whilst facing the body of the Hall were three more seats.   
A hum went around as a dozen men filed into the Hall, walked its length and claimed the row of seats. Then a strange hush descended as Brother Gilbert, Bowen and Hewe took the same route. Finally, the blacksmith brought in the prisoner to a welter of boos, hisses and cat-calls. Escorting Aelfric to one of the two remaining chairs, the blacksmith chained the man to it and sat beside him. It was time to begin.   
Bowen rose from his central seat, gestured for silence and addressed the crowd. "Good people! Friends; we are here to witness the serving of justice in accordance with ancient law! The man here - Aelfric - stands accused of murder; inasmuch as he caused the deaths of many by his own order. To ensure that justice is carried out, we have a jury of twelve men who will listen to the prisoner and to those who survived the attacks upon their villages.   
"Our mediator - the one to see that all participants get a fair hearing - is Brother Gilbert," and he half-turned as the priest rose to stand beside him. "Let the trial commence," Bowen announced with a wave of his hand.   
It was a trial in name only. Men and women told of swordsmen in their villages; the inhabitants of the fortress itself, spoke of seeing Aelfric riding down unarmed herders, and Hewe also added his own tale to the proceedings. When it came for Aelfric to speak, a great din erupted, taking Bowen several moments to quell.   
"Silence!" he bellowed at them. "Let the man speak!"   
Speak, he did. He was unchained from his chair and allowed to stand - albeit shackled hand and foot - and face his jurors. Unkempt and grimy from his weeks in the forge, Aelfric turned woeful eyes upon the men set to judge him. His voice was calm, steady and persuasive though.   
"You call me a murderer," he began. "I came to claim a realm left without a legitimate lord; I did not expect my claim to go unchallenged. Of course there was resistance; peasants always resist authority, it's in their nature."   
"Only cruel authority!" Hewe shouted, only to be silenced by both Bowen and Gilbert.   
Ignoring the interruption, Aelfric continued. "I had heard about this new thegn; how can this be? There is no king, therefore no thegn can be sworn into office. I was within my rights to challenge him," and he glared at Bowen. "Men die in any conflict, even one as small as the one that brought me here. I ask you; how can you condemn any man for taking up arms in this fashion? Besides, I outrank this knight you now honour as Thegn; I am an Earl."   
He looked squarely at Bowen, waiting for the verbal challenge; instead, the blacksmith was signalled to chain Aelfric back in his chair and it was Brother Gilbert who rose to speak.   
Folding his arms into his sleeves, the priest spoke softly and clearly. "Part of what Aelfric says is the truth; kings do create earls and thegns. But since we have no king - by birthright or conquest - then the people themselves earn the right to name their own leige lord. It has taken almost three years for Bowen to accept this honour; an honour he was petitioned many times to take. I believe a man earns respect better by deed than mere law; Bowen has done that and more. Without needing to do so, he has rebuilt this realm - and not for his own glory; he has given it to the people.   
"Their acknowledgement of his leadership is little compared to all he has accomplished here. It was not built for outsiders to come like thieves and steal away! No!" Gilbert cried passionately. "Bowen took up arms again to defend again the very people he had freed from one kind of tyranny, not wishing to see them endure another! God judges men, but we must also take his laws into our own hands. Thou shalt not covet. Aelfric coveted his neighbour's house, lands and wife; he is guilty of that crime alone."   
The crowd cheered the eloquence of the priest, who - taken aback - backed up to his own chair and slumped down onto it.   
"Well spoken, Brother," Bowen praised. "Now it's up to them," indicating the jury.   
It didn't take too much debating to find Aelfric guilty as charged. Then it was left to the judges - Bowen, Hewe and Brother Gilbert - to pass sentence. Hewe wanted the man hung; Bowen thought it too harsh and considered banishment.   
"He'll come back, Bowen," Hewe reasoned. "You have to assert your authority; discourage anyone else from trying to overthrow you. If you let him go, believe me, there will be others."   
Bowen looked to Gilbert for advice; the priest always saw logic in an argument. "Well, Brother, what's your opinion?"   
"Um... er... I... I shouldn't even think to judge. But - Hewe's right, Bowen. Many have already died because of this man; he's as guilty as those who committed the murders -maybe more so. Let him go and he's as like to return with an even bigger force."   
"Yes," Hewe agreed; causing Bowen to swivel in his chair. "Think of Kara; your children," knowing just how to push Bowen into action. "He was pretty graphic about his intentions towards her even with you out of earshot."   
"So be it," Bowen agreed on a sigh. He rose from his chair to announce the verdict. Ordering Aelfric to stand, he pronounced the sentence. Facing the prisoner, he said with a heavy heart: "It is the judgement of this tribunal that, having been found guilty, you suffer the supreme sentence we can give. Therefore, at dawn tomorrow, you will be taken and hung from the gate tower as a warning to all others. Tyranny will not thrive here," and he turned away.   
"No!" Aelfric shouted. "Not hanging! Not like a common thief! Bowen; in the name of honour... "   
Bowen turned. "What would you have me do?"   
"Use your sword on me. Take my head - please. It's a far quicker death."   
"Let him hang!" Hewe yelled.   
Bowen looked at the peasant. "No." Striding over to Aelfric, he spoke in cool anger. "I'll do as you ask, but it's more than you deserve."   
"If you have the stomach for it," goaded the earl.   
"Oh believe me, it will be a pleasure."   
"Why, Bowen? To keep me from your trollop?"   
Clenching his jaw, Bowen spat back: "To keep you from all good women." As a parting gesture, he brought his knee up and slammed it into Aelfric's groin. "Just to remind you of what you'll miss!" and he stalked away.   
Aelfric's knees buckled as he collapsed on the boards, only to be yanked up by his chains as the blacksmith hauled him away. 

********** 

For Erin, the celebrations of the Solstice began at sundown on the day of the trial. She conducted her rituals in private before preparing for Ralf's arrival. To set him at ease, she'd discarded her black priestly robes for a gown of blue - its shade blending with her eyes - braided blue wool into the hair at her temples and brushed the rest until it shone like the wings of a raven; set her gold circlet on her head and waited.   
With tallow candles casting a soft light around her chamber, she found the wait to be a nervous one. This was for herself - not duty; tonight, if all went well, she would bring a boy into manhood, yet not purely for his benefit. In one regard, Bowen had guessed right about the lad; he would blossom in the arms of a woman - most men did...   
He arrived as the last rays of the sun streaked the horizon blood-red. Once inside Erin's chamber, Ralf's nerves showed more acutely and he stuttered words to her. "F-forgive me, m-madam," dropping his chin in courtesy.   
She walked deliberately slowly towards him. "My name is Erin, as you well know," she allowed. "Are we not friends, Ralf?"   
"Y-yes, madam."   
Her eyebrows arched. "Do you give titles to all of your friends?"   
"N-no."   
She stood before him and offered him her hand. "Come inside, there's nothing to harm - or bewitch you. Unless of course, that's what you wish."   
"Um; I don't understand," daring to look into the intense colour of her eyes. Bowen's eyes.   
"Tonight is yours, Ralf," and she led him to a small table where refreshments were set out, and invited him to sit on a bench alongside it.   
He gazed at the food; then at Erin.   
"The food is not poisoned; the wine not drugged, nor have I cast any spell to keep you here," she assured him.   
"I know why you asked me to come," he said boldly.   
"You do? Why?" sitting down beside him.   
He caught the scent of her then; something earthy yet pleasing that he didn't recognise. He flinched. "You want to seduce me," he croaked.   
"I think you want me to," Erin countered.   
"I... I... care for you," he confessd.   
"I know." She laid a hand on his thigh and kept it there.   
"Witchery?"   
"No; it's written all over your face. You would not be here if I did not know there is sincerity in your desire. Oh it's alright to feel desire; it's what you do with it that counts."   
"I would not dishonour you in any way," he vowed.   
"We are not strangers; you have kissed me."   
Ralf sniggered. "Poorly I fear."   
"Practice makes perfect." It was an invitation. She leaned into him. His lips touched hers and she felt the spark she'd so longed for. She deepened the kiss and slid her arms around his neck. Their knees bumped together as their upper bodies met until Ralf abruptly broke away.   
"You see," he bemoaned, "I am inept as a lover."   
"We all need to learn," Erin encouraged. "Ralf; will you be calm. This is not a contest." She stroked his cheek. "I liked your kiss," smiling more encouragement. "Now, let's eat." 

********** 

Ralf was actually laughing. In his hands was a goblet of wine; in his head the words Erin had spoken about a childhood incident. But in his heart burned the flame of love. Composing himself, he sipped at the dark liquid and looked directly at Erin.   
"You are beautiful," he complimented.   
"You should have seen my mother when she was young."   
"Do you carry her looks?"   
"Some say; but not her eyes. My eyes are - "   
" - like Bowen's. Yes, I noticed."   
"Is it that obvious?"   
"To anyone who knows him - yes; there's the same sparkle."   
"That's what Mam used to say... " her eyes becoming vacant as her voice trailed away. One of his hands closed over hers and she gasped her way back to awareness.   
"You miss her," Ralf realised.   
"Yes." Erin rose sharply and walked to the open shutters.   
Following her, Ralf put a hand on her shoulder; his fingers disappearing into the forest of her hair. "It's alright to grieve," he consoled. It took him by surprise when she spun around, slammed into his arms and clung to him. "Erin," he whispered, holding onto her.   
Out of Erin's pent-up grief came Ralf's confidence; he became the principal in the scenario; holding her as she wept on his shoulder; caressing the soft fabric of her gown and murmuring soothing sounds that meant little by way of language.   
When she'd exhausted her tears, she pulled away and gazed at him. They were of an equal height, but he still had time to outstrip her. "You are gentle," she confirmed. "Can you continue to be so?"   
He grinned sheepishly at her. "I'll try." His confidence now bolstered, he kissed her on the mouth. Her response was enough to swell more than his pride. It was he who led her to the bed; he who made the first tentative move toward seduction, only bowing to her experience in where he should touch her, and all the while treating her with respect.   
Much to Erin's surprise, Ralf did not spend all of his energy within her. He withdrew and sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her. Crawling across to him, she wrapped her arms around him from behind. "My gallant young man," she breathed against his neck.   
He bolted for the privacy of the latrine. On his return, Erin sat up on the bed, hugging her knees; her eyes roved over his naked body.   
"Not many experienced men would be so honourable," she praised.   
"You already have a child," he reasoned, "I'll not be responsible for another."   
"Then I chose well." 

********** 

Clouds filled the skies the morning following Aelfric's trial and Bowen awoke feeling decidedly chilled. He'd not slept so badly for quite some time; the cause being his need to act as executioner. Of course, he knew it was necessary; yet it was beginning to feel like murder and nothing had been able to shake that thought or unravel the knot in his stomach, not even Kara's overtures. For once, it had been he who refused her.   
Now, he rose and dressed quietly - but in no way calmly. His eyes kept straying to the sword and scabbard hanging up nearby. He'd had its blade reforged soon after Draco's death, losing his friend's talon-groove in the process, but it was still essentially the same weapon; to have to turn it into an instrument of execution....   
At that moment, he hated having accepted the honour of thegn. When he heard Kara stir, he peered over one shoulder whilst lacing his tunic. Her eyes opened and their familiar amber orbs locked onto his face.   
"Were you going to leave without a word?" she asked, pushing up in the bed.   
"I didn't want to have to face you before I do this terrible thing."   
"Hewe would do it."   
"No, it has to be clean; Hewe is not adept enough to make it so."   
"Does it matter?" she said coldly.   
He put one knee on the bed. "It does to me." A hand raised and for a split second, he thought it was to slap him. Instead, Kara's palm slid down his cheek and he involutarily leaned into it.   
"Take courage, my love. Take my blessing," and she kissed his mouth. 

********** 

Courage all but fled Bowen as he entered the compound. An expectant hush greeted the new thegn as he walked slowly towards a hastily constructed scaffold - a farm cart with an uprooted tree trunk on top.   
Falling into step beside him, Hewe slapped Bowen on the back. "We're all with you," he sympathised.   
Bowen looked with hardened eyes at the man. "Yes; but it still remains my duty," and he hurried on.   
Not a sound disturbed the cool morning air; a gentle breeze fanned Bowen's cheeks as he mounted the scaffold and looked down on the gathered crowd. Not a time for speeches. The blacksmith brought Aelfric to the cart and pushed him onto it and for a moment, earl and thegn regarded each other in mutual contempt. Then the smith forced the prisoner to his knees and pulled out a rag to blindfold him.   
"No need for that, lout. I'll go into eternity with my eyes open," and he smirked at Bowen.   
Raising his weapon, Bowen took a deep breath. A yard below him, the exposed neck of a convicted killer; in his hands, the means to destroy him. "Has he been shriven?" he thought to ask.   
"Yes, Bowen," Brother Gilbert's voice confirmed.   
Bowen hadn't even noticed the priest amongst the crowd. Gritting his teeth, he declared: "Then - may God have mercy. So perish all murderers." He slashed down the blade.   
A gasp went up from the assembly and Bowen dared look. He'd kept his promise. Then he fled the scaffold. The new thegn had dispatched his first duty; but at the expense of a piece of his own honour.   
****   
  
  



End file.
